CXXXIV: Inside a craft shop on a Saturday

How could I capture what it was I felt

when, into Michaels on a Summer’s day,

I walked—nay, I should like to say I knelt—

awash before their holiday display.

It washed me back like some great wave of time

to when I smelled these smells and saw these sights

with mother, when she’d whisk me off to find

some ornaments to ornament with lights.

Her home was filled with boxes of these things.

I never really thought they meant too much.

Until, much older, now they play my strings

like they did hers—with melancholy touch.

Though not all see it from the day they’re born,

man loveth not but what he does adorn.